


Seasons

by The_Dark_Side_Of_Cookies



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 11:03:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12456308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Dark_Side_Of_Cookies/pseuds/The_Dark_Side_Of_Cookies
Summary: "He was warm just right and in all the right places.His hands.His neck.His cheeks.His lips."





	Seasons

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I keep writing about Pete's thoughts about Patrick during nighttime.
> 
> ***
> 
> Italics = Shakespeare quotations

_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? ___

____

 

Restless.

He couldn't sleep.

A thin layer of sweat covered him from head to toe. Even his ironed hair were curling on his forehead and neck.

Overthink.

He threw the white bed sheets aside and sat cross-legged, just watching the room.

His old room.

The one he grew up in.

The one in his parents house.

The cracks on the painted wall were showing the plaster underneath it.

The floorboards cracked beneath his socks clad feet.

He was young again.

The floor made that noise again, signalling that his brother has just entered the room.

He was unafraid and bold and Pete was a little jealous.

He was the big brother, he should be the bravest among his siblings.

He threw him a pillow and laughed at some silly question he was asked.

He blinked.

His brother was gone.

He saw himself on the bed.

It was weird.

He was thinner and he was crying.

He remembered that dark period of his adolescence but not the reason behind it.

Maybe there wasn't one.

He disappeared.

Then he opened the blinds.

The air was hot and humid, not an improvement to the room’s condition.

He grunted and hit the mattress face first.

The cotton fabric was a little colder.

Everything was the same as always.

Same squeaky floor, same light green walls, same ugly lamp and bedside table, same him.

And it was comforting in a way he didn't think was possible.

He didn't feel a burden as much as when he was younger.

He let his hands wander around in search of something, anything to grab, someone to hold.

And suddenly he thought about him.

All the times he was lulled into sleep by a sweet and naïve voice.

All the times they shared a backseat first, a hotel room later.

He couldn't help but think about them, think about him.

Not on a summer day where everything is golden plated and too hot.

Because Patrick can easily be compared to a summer day.

 

_Thou art more lovely and more temperate:  
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, ___

____

 

But most of the time the light auburn haired man wasn't so unbearable as a summer day like this.

He had a temper that was either a May’s wind or an August’s chilling breeze.

He never was too cold though, nor was he too hot to not cuddle with.

He was warm just right and in all the right places.

His hands.

His neck.

His cheeks.

His lips.

 

_And summer's lease hath all too short a date:  
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, ___

____

 

And all the time they spent together never seems enough.

Months on a tour felt like minutes.

And Pete was craving his company, like a sunny day after a never-ending rainy winter.

He remembers when he tried to memorize all the colours in Patrick's eyes.

And when he lifted his blue eyes up he smiled at him.

Caught staring at the Sun.

It became a challenge, looking in the eye of the sun just to see if he could.

Trying to not avert his hazel eyes when it shone so bright.

Just to see how much time it would take to blind him.

He didn't know it happened the first time he tried.

He was oh so blind.

A challenge he kept losing.

 

_And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;_  
And every fair from fair sometime declines,  
By chance, or nature's changing course, __

____

____

 

He remembers the clouded days, too.

Days where he seemed to have lost his glow.

Days where the fall seemed around the corner and the ocean's waves were high and threatening.

Pete was the one with his toes in the cold sand.

Salt in his lungs.

He was the one that crashed with them.

He was willingly hitting the rocks, sometimes harder than others.

You can't do anything to stop the nature.

He waited for the waves to bring him on the shore.

So he put his hands on salty cheeks and whispered how beautiful summer was even if he had scars and bruises.

 

_But thy eternal summer shall not fade_  
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;  
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, __

____

____

 

He hated those days the most.

Days where he tried hard to make the Sun smile.

He felt something close as pride bloom in his chest every time those lips turned up, but it wasn't pride.

Maybe was love.

Pete made Patrick promise to try.

Try to shine in the darkest days, when the time was passing fast and he couldn't make the hot season last a second longer.

And if Season’s Death knocked unpleasantly on his door he would blinded her too.

He nodded.

Pride.

A shy smile on his face.

Love.

 

_So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,  
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. ___

____

____

 

Pete made a promise to Patrick, too.

He promised to show him that winter is not so cold with him.

With his words.

With his actions.

But always without crossing the fine line between friendship and romance, that could hurt.

Because if fall into the sun was terrifying, fall for it was worse.

He grabbed his phone and sent a message.

Soon after he smiled and fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If Fall Out Boy were seasons in my opinion  
> Andy would be spring, Joe fall, Pete winter and Patrick summer.
> 
> *** 
> 
> Shakespeare sonnet
> 
> Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?  
> Thou art more lovely and more temperate:  
> Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,  
> And summer's lease hath all too short a date:  
> Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,  
> And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;  
> And every fair from fair sometime declines,  
> By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;  
> But thy eternal summer shall not fade  
> Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;  
> Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,  
> When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;  
> So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,  
> So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.


End file.
